Dear Ma
by Koriat Cyredanthem
Summary: A soldier's letter home gets interrupted.


Private Jacob Walker bent over a piece of wood in his lap, writing a note on a scrap of paper he had found in one of the stores they had raided earlier in the day.

_Ma, _

_Hope you're well! I miss you a lot. How's Dad's leg? How's Kristy? Give her a hug from me. I know I'll miss her birthday by the time this gets to you, but I'll be thinking of her. _

_I know you hate getting old-fashioned mail but comms out here are in high demand. I can't tell you where I am; hush-hush, you know. But I can tell you I'm safer than I've ever been. We've got some guardian angels looking out for us._

_George wants me to ask you to send another care package. He really likes your oatmeal cookies. And he wants you to add raisins. He's got no family; think you can manage it? _

_It's pretty quiet right now, which is why I can take time to write this letter to you. We spent the day drilling up and down streets. The sunsets here are so beautiful. Red and orange like the Yule log at Christmas time. I can't even describe them. And the plains – it's just like home!_

….

"Sir." Sierra-117 looked down to find a soldier, covered in blood and gasping thickly through blood in his throat, looking at him. John had given the man up for dead; he signaled his team and crouched next to the man. A plasma blast had taken off his body below the waist; he would not survive long. John racked his rifle onto his back.

"Guardian angels on a lunch break, huh?" the soldier chuckled weakly. He spat out of glob of blood. "Don't blame yourself, sir. You'd've died in the strike, too. Can I ask you a favor?"

John nodded silently. The man held up a piece of paper. He was still holding a pencil in one hand, his rifle nearby. A piece of wood had been in his lap; it still lay over his legs on the other side of the room.

"Send this to my ma." John took the paper, which was miraculously still legible despite several large splotches of blood on it, and sealed it in a pocket. He looked back at the soldier to find that the man had passed on; John closed his eyes and stood.

"Let's move," he ordered, stepping over the soldier. Linda paused a moment, looking down at the man, and then silently followed her brother.

….

Second Lieutenant William Madigan straightened his collar and dusted off his shoulders. He stepped up to the door and rapped, sharply, on the warm wood. A dog started barking inside, coming closing; someone yelled at it and the dog retreated. A woman opened the door. She had greying blond hair, dark hazel eyes, and the face of someone who had been a beauty in their youth.

"Mrs. Hazel Walker?" Will asked quietly, tucking his hat under his arm.

The woman's eyes widened; her lips tightened. The chaplain, to Will's right, in his black suit was a clear marker of the purpose of their visit, as if Will's own solemn appearance and tone weren't enough.

"Yes?" she finally managed, choking back tears already.

"Mrs. Walker, we regret to inform you Jacob P. Walker was killed in battle at 04:39 on the morning of July 18, 2544 while an enemy force attacked his squad."

The woman wailed before Will had managed to get past her son's name; Will stepped forward quickly, dropping his hat, as her knees gave out and she fell. Will gently lowered her to the ground. A man called from inside the house, worried.

"Haze? Is everything alright?" the man yelled. The woman whimpered and clung to Will.

The chaplain knelt next to Will and the woman. He murmured condolences and took charge of the woman; Will collected his hat and stepped inside. The man was sitting in a recliner in the living room, struggling to get into a wheelchair. He was missing both legs below the knee.

"Second Lieutenant…" The man cast an appraising eye over Will. "I suppose my son is dead." The man sunk back into his recliner, eyes shadowed. He shoved the wheelchair away

"He was killed in battle yesterday, sir," Will replied quietly.

The man nodded stoically. "Bring my wife in, please. I would but…" He gestured at his legs.

"Yes, sir." Will set his cap down on a table in the hallway and helped the chaplain bring Mrs. Walker back to her feet. They carefully walked her into the living room and helped her to sit down next to her husband.

"Sir, before we leave, this was retrieved from the battlefield by the relief force." Will pulled the piece of paper, cleaned of the blood that had coated it, from his pocket and handed it to the man. "Your son requested that it be brought to you."

"T-thank you, Lieutenant." The man turned to consoling his wife; Mrs. Walker clutched at the piece of paper, staining it with her tears. Will nodded to the chaplain and they left; he picked up his hat and closed the door quietly behind them.


End file.
